


Dinner

by If_you_had_had_a_sister



Series: Franz Liszt and Frédéric Chopin [6]
Category: 19th Century CE France RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, Classical Music RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Cheating, Dinner, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/If_you_had_had_a_sister/pseuds/If_you_had_had_a_sister
Summary: Chopin is invited to a dinner at Franz Liszt’s and something happens that was not really supposed to happen.
Relationships: Frédéric Chopin/Franz Liszt
Series: Franz Liszt and Frédéric Chopin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108409
Kudos: 9





	Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any errors!!

“12th August 1833

Dear Chopin

I have thought of your fine eyes and played all of your beautiful music for so long, and a day has not passed since we last met that evening, where my mind has not crossed you multiple times throughout it. I have so longed to write this letter to you, so here you stand, with my letter in hand. 

I hope that your Sunday evening is not occupied, as my wife is seeing her family that day, and therefore, I wish to invite you to dinner at me, just you and I.  
I hope this offer finds you in good health and that I will see you at my doorstep at a quarter past five on Sunday evening.  
Do let me know your decision before Sunday morning.

Yours  
Franz Liszt “

I stood with his relatively short letter in my hands on a Friday morning, surprised and my bread half digested in my mouth. To think that the selfish Liszt had reached out to me and invited me to dinner, was a rather queer situation. I was wondering if he wanted something from me. Probably more fame and recognition, and not a great friendship (potentially even more) like I did. But what could be the harm in it, the press would catch wind of it, if I didn’t and there would be a great commotion.  
I began writing my letter back with a sigh.

On Sunday evening at five ten, I found myself outside in the warm Paris air and walking the few blocks to his house. I stood outside and took a deep breath before I knocked. I heard steps and the door was opened by his maid and I could hear him walking briskly into the entrance hall.  
“Master Chopin, welcome.” She stood, so I could walk in, I did and she closed the door and quickly walked into the kitchen again to attend to her errands.  
“I shall leave you to it.”

Liszt looked so very happily at me as he asked me for my coat. My answer was a bit and awkward but the coat was reached to him nonetheless and put onto a hanger by himself.  
He followed me into the dining room and pulled the chair out for me personally. I was very perplexed as to why he didn’t have another servant to do all of that. I figured that it was the maid who let me in and had to help the kitchen maid in the kitchen.  
He sat down at the other side of the long dinner table.  
“The dinner is ready soon, don’t worry yourself about that.”  
I didn’t, but it was good to know that this rather awkward air around me would be covered up by talk of food. He asked a bit to my personal life and what I was working on, all I answered pretty honestly until the question came to lovers and dinner was served.  
“So, Chopin, any girl that has your fancy.” He asked as he began eating. I had just met a woman whom I was quite fascinated with, but I saw her as just a friend of mine, nothing more.  
“No, not really.” I hesitated and coughed. “They are not really my fancy”. I slowly began eating. Yes, that could be interpreted as that I am not a romantic creature of some sort.  
We sat, eating, asking each other questions back and forth. The air was awkward and stiff until the red wine came on the table. I was utterly terrible at keeping myself away from that particular wine from that particular region and I only drank and drink that wine. I tried to keep myself reasonable but still took a long sip as soon as I was able to. Liszt obviously noticed and repressed a little giggle. I kept the glass to my mouth in embarrassment and slowly placed it onto the table again.  
“I apologize.” I said quietly and my hands fiddled under the table.  
“Oh no need to. Just indulge in your pleasures, friend, no need for worry.” He beamed at me and I took another sip, blushing from embarrassment.

The main course was then finished and we moved onto the dessert. Very tasty indeed and supremely light as is my tastes and apparently his too.  
Other such questions where asked across the table, now a bit more intimate as we where now a bit more tipsy. As we sat there finished, a bit full and the sky growing dark outside, we then moved to the couches and accompanied with cigars and even more glorious wine.  
My level of intoxication was now so high, that I had forgot all moral decency and had poured wine up in my glass in abundance and drank in big slurps. He found this so utterly hilarious, that he decided to touch upon it, a bit more jokingly and gay now.  
“Say, why is your love for wine this, my Chopin.” I could recognize through my drunk senses, his own tipsiness.  
“Oh, isss just..... heartbreak after heartbreak beautiful chłopak after beautiful chłopak... I adopted the wine as a coping mechanism i now affer my heartbreecks have passed.... Jestem still addicted.”

Looking back, I do realize my utterly poor state of mind and that it had screwed my judgement of when to talk about what with who.  
“I me name is pronounced Szopin, by the way..”  
Such a great line, I am utterly embarrassed looking back. He answered nonetheless.

“Oh I see, I see. If I don’t remember wrongly though chłopiec is boy in polish, right?” He rested like a snake over the back of the couch, smirking. He had caught me.  
“Right you are.., Oh wait I didn’t- HicC..”. I did realize my mistake at that moment, but it was too late.  
“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head about that. I shall not do or say anything that might hurt your renown.” He said as he placed a hand dangerously close to my thigh and smirked like a cat that had caught a mouse. Friendly and dangerous. I tried to ignore it and keep the conversation going, but it seemed that I had lost control of my attention, for I kept looking at the hand. How I wished it would move just a few inches closer to me...  
“But if what you said is true...” he leaned closer to me, I could feel his wine breath on my lips and nose.  
“Will you have something against.... this.” He placed his lips on my cheek with a smirk and kissed my soft stubble. It worked like a spell, my face fired up with blush and my hands became utterly useless at doing anything other than barely holding the wine. Liszt however kept kissing with his usual smirk and began caressing my other cheek and my hair.  
“Oh my Chopin, you are so beautiful.” He muttered into my ear. I could now feel his hand, that was not occupied with my face, stroking and groping my thigh. It felt so good and so strange to have these bigger hands on me. He was so very pushy and soon began licking the corner of my mouth, and I don’t know if it was because of my hazy mind but it felt so good to be kissed and groped like that. The long days in the composition room didn’t let much imagination and lust slip in, I didn’t even know that I longed for the touch of another human being. Another man. He had been on my mind though, on those long days of composing and coughing. A lot of coughing lately. His hand reached up and took mine with great lust and wildness, which I queerly didn’t have anything against. I just let him do it. Kiss, grope and hold while I had to do nothing and he didn’t even complain. He leaned down and slowly moved my collar and cravat out of the way so he could kiss the skin on my neck with his pretty, thin lips. I let out a soft little moan, that was completely unintentional but Liszt seemed to take it as a sign of pleasure (which it was) and continued kissing and caressing, like how I so liked it. I tried to give back but my body was still utterly useless. All I could do was sit in ecstasy and excitement while Liszt took, took, took and I offered my moans as a thank you for taking pleasure in me. Things got more heated and heated until waistcoats, trousers and the like were lying abandoned on the floor, and warm and flush skin was being pressed against each other, and short, stiff, dark, curly hair was revealed and tingled and some light and friction, and oh it was too too much. I melted in his arms, making sounds of pleasure.  
“Liszt, Liszt, Liszt, Liszt, Liszt oh Liszt, Franz, safe me, yes, oh it feels so- “ were some of the things, I remember saying. Everything went hot and soft and pleasurable until, suddenly a knock on the door, the sound of shoes and a gasp could be heard from the door. 

That night was killed very quickly and ended very poorly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! :)  
> I believe that the ending could’ve gone something like this:
> 
> “Franz, my dear!” I believe she could only see him from the back of the couch, because when I let out another moan that could not me mistaken for a man’s, she gasped once again.  
> “And with a- oh you just don’t, you-“  
> I sat up, high on hormones and wine and an utter mess. When she recognized me she said “THAT is it! First, you’re cheating, second, it’s with a sodomite, third, it’s one of your composer friends!! I demand an explanation from you two, especially you Franz!”
> 
> but I decided on something else instead :)


End file.
